Page 40 of The Mistletoe Dare

“It sounds like you ought to marry her yourself,” Rochford remarked carelessly, though his heart thudded too hard in his chest with wondering why on earth Jules hadn’t done so, if he could see all her fine qualities so clearly.

“I told you already. She’s like a sister to me,” Jules said, rolling his eyes. “Besides, we’d never suit.”

“And you think I would? You’re soft in the head.” Rochford stalked away. He was being a fool to even consider it. He’d be setting his foot on the path to misery and humiliation if he even dared consider courting her. “You heard the lady. I’m the last man on earth she’d ever marry.”

Jules hurried after him. “She was angry with you, you bloody half-wit, and with good reason. You insulted her—and me, I might add.”

Rochford frowned but slowed his steps, glancing back at Jules. “I… I apologise,” he said awkwardly. “Though it appears I wasn’t entirely wrong about your intentions.”

Jules gave a bark of laughter. “Well, that’s a half-arsed apology, but I suppose it will have to do. I suggest you do a better job with Georgie, though. In fact, I’d strongly suggest getting on your knees and grovelling.”

Rochford stopped and swung around to face his friend. “You’re not serious?” he asked, whilst something raw and vulnerable trembled in his chest. “You don’t really think that… that she’d ever consent…?”

“She kissed you, Rochford,” Jules said with a smile. “And I’d wager that’s the first proper kiss she’s ever had. You’re a bright fellow—well, some of the time—you’ll figure it out.”

And with that, Jules clapped him on the shoulder and walked away.

Aggie looked up from the paper dress she was cutting out. Monsieur Le Comte had bought the beautiful set to appease her for not being able to attend the ball tomorrow night, telling her it was an early Christmas gift. Beautifully printed with lavish colours, the little paper doll that went with it had a comprehensive wardrobe that any girl would covet. She was not so disappointed about missing the ball now, for Fred and Victoria would be with her and the duchess had promised they may watch the dancing from a hidden balcony for a while if they were good. Instinctively, she felt Monsieur was not so happy about the ball himself, or about being here at all. Since he had rescued her from the streets, she had come to idolise her guardian, though not so much that she did not see his faults. She was too much a realist for that, having lived a harsh life for too long.

She knew her guardian’s closely kept secret too, that his life had been equally hard, and that he understood the difficulty of always feeling an outsider, even if one was welcomed with open arms. He seemed more unsettled of late, though, unhappy, and she did not know why. Aggie had become attuned to his moods and could tell when he was truly happy and when he was putting on a show to be polite. Usually, Miss Knight’s company was enough to make him relax and smile, but even that did not seem to be working. She wasn’t quite certain, but she thought perhaps it was only making matters worse, which she did not understand at all. Miss Knight was such a lovely, warm young woman who made everyone laugh and feel at home, even Aggie.

It was a talent few people had, but everyone who knew her loved her and sought out her company, not that she seemed to realise the fact.

Monsieur was watching Miss Knight now as she poured the tea, his expression pensive.

“Do you think the yellow or the green?” Aggie asked, raising two carefully cut out carriage dresses up to show him.

Her guardian’s astonishing blue eyes moved to study the paper gowns. “The green.”

Aggie nodded. “Yes, that is what I thought.”

“You have excellent taste, child.”

Preening a little, Aggie grinned, and then gave into the impulse to jump up and hug him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Mille mercis pour mon cadeau, monsieur. It is a splendid present.”

He regarded her with surprise, clearly taken aback by the show of affection. Aggie blushed, feeling foolish now, but he smiled at her, a proper smile, and she was glad for having done so.

“It was my pleasure, Agatha, and both your French and your English are coming on wonderfully well. I am proud of you.”

The praise was enough to have Aggie walking on air, and she beamed at him. She settled down at his feet, returning her attention to the paper dresses, though she watched him covertly from under her eyelashes. “Are you looking forward to the ball, monsieur?”

If she had not been studying him, she might not have noticed how his face shuttered up, but she saw.

“Of course,” he said lightly, though she knew he did not mean it. His attention drifted to the other side of the room where his brother, Nic, was laughing with Eliza and her mama.

Something like pain flickered in his eyes and Aggie’s heart ached. He would never say so—he’d do nothing to spoil his brother’s happiness, but he missed Nic dreadfully. She wished he was truly her Papa, so she could live with him and keep him company, for he hated being alone, but that was not allowed. Monsieur had explained why, and she’d said she understood, but it seemed a stupid rule. But rules were rules and Aggie realised she must obey them, for the consequences could be very bad indeed.

She sighed. If only he would marry, then perhaps she could go and live with him and his wife, but then his wife might not like her. A wife might make him leave Aggie alone. The idea made her heart squeeze with fear.

“You won’t ever leave me, will you, monsieur?”

He looked at her, startled by the anxiety in her tone. “Dieu, Aggie! Whatever would make you say such a thing?”

Aggie shrugged miserably, wishing she’d never thought such a horrid thing, for she couldn’t shake the idea now. “If… If you got married, your wife might not like me. You know people s-say I’m your bastard.”

His face hardened, his eyes glittering, and he reached out and took her hand, squeezing her fingers. “I will never abandon you, Aggie. Never. You have my word.”

“Oh,” she said, the breath leaving her in a rush. “Oh, thank you, but—”